


Tsarevich Yuuri's Love

by Multiple_Universes



Series: Peter the Great AU [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Peter the Great AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/pseuds/Multiple_Universes
Summary: “I love you,” Victor said. “And, for tonight, I want to forget about my wretched kingdom, or God, or anyone else. Tonight there are only the two of us.”This fic is two smut scenes for the ficVictor the Great. Please read that fic before this one.





	1. First Night

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to put smut scenes into [Victor the Great](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12740541/chapters/29055912), because I wanted to keep the rating of that fic as is. When I asked if anyone was interested in historic smut I was surprised to get a yes from several people and then I thought that the smut scenes on their own could tell their own story, so here they are. Please read Victor the Great before reading these scenes, because I'm afraid it won't make sense on its own (not to mention that there are spoilers here for that fic).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene follows right after Chapter 14 of Victor the Great.

Every kiss they had exchanged before was an innocent one, snatched in secret. The kiss that had sealed their marriage was much the same, full of relief that they were married at long last, but still all too conscious of the other people around them. Now came the kiss that was both blessed by marriage and exchanged away from prying eyes.

Yuuri’s body was warm. Victor could feel it through all the clothes he had been forced to wear and he felt his own heat up in response. _Yuuri is naked_ , a voice in the back of his mind whispered, _and all yours at last._

In all the time he had spent chasing after this moment, pulling it ever closer, he was both impatient and terrified of it. Yuuri’s bold removal of all his clothes and offering of himself, had taken Victor by surprise.

He had prepared, of course, but when his imagination painted the night for him, it had not thought Yuuri would act the way he had.

Yuuri’s hands trailed over Victor’s back, around and before Victor knew how they got there, Yuuri’s fingers were on his chest.

Victor pulled away and sat up. He was supposed to get undressed, he knew, but, instead, he studied Yuuri’s body. The candle was too far away to give him any light, so he leaned over Yuuri and let his fingers trail reverentially over the Tsarevich’s chest as if his husband’s body was a holy relic.

He shifted back a little and let his hands trail down to the man’s stomach. In the dark he had to rely on touch and it ruled over all his other senses. He closed his eyes, feeling Yuuri shudder under his hands. Here was a terrain completely new to him that he had yet to explore.

In his campaigns the Tsar often overheard soldiers boast about their amorous adventures and once his ears caught words which his imagination used to paint very vivid images in his mind. Now he had no need for his imagination.

He bent down and pressed his lips ever so gently against the chest of the Tsarevich, next to the faithful heart that beat for him.

The Tsarevich let out a gasp that Victor was not ready for. He raised his eyes and met Yuuri’s gaze.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and felt foolish.

Yuuri reached out and touched Victor’s cheek. “Why are you apologizing? I am yours to do with as you will.”

Was this a reminder of their ranks or was it merely Yuuri’s way of confessing his feelings?

“I love you,” Victor said. “And, for tonight, I want to forget about my wretched kingdom, or God, or anyone else. Tonight there are only the two of us.” He sat up and pulled his clothes off. He tossed them aside, not caring where they fell.

Down below the candle crackled and went out. Now the darkness was complete.

 

Yuuri lay on his back. His eyes were open wide, but they could not see anything in the darkness that surrounded them. Over his head was the ceiling of their chamber. Like in all of the palace’s chambers, it was painted in bright colours. Many Tsars had slept in this chamber and now here he was – sharing it with Victor, who moved to the foot of the bed.

A hand touched his foot. Two hands caught it carefully and raised it up. Yuuri closed his eyes as he felt Victor press his lips against his skin.

In the silence all he could hear were the frantic beatings of his own heart.

The kisses trailed up his leg and he bit his lip, not daring to make another sound.

Victor pulled away, “Are you frightened?” he asked softly.

Yuuri opened his mouth to assure him that, no, he was not frightened in the slightest, that he was ready to provide anything the Tsar desired, but his mouth betrayed him. “Yes,” he whispered.

“There is no need to be frightened,” Victor whispered back. His fingers trailed slowly up Yuuri’s thigh.

He wished for a light so that he could see what Victor was doing. The darkness hid everything and it only amplified his fear.

A gentle hand brushed against his thigh and the Tsar left more kisses there.

“I am tired,” he said, pulling away. “Perhaps it is best we rest now.”

Yuuri sat up and reached out into the darkness. “I wish to see you,” he admitted once his hands touched what felt like a chest, “but I dare not ask for another candle.” He pulled Victor down as he reclined on the pillows once more. “Do not let me go.”

Their noses touched as each of them leaned closer for another kiss. Victor’s hands were on his back. A knee pressed against a leg and Yuuri pulled Victor even closer until their hips touched.

Victor rocked gently against Yuuri. Yuuri closed his eyes and felt Victor kiss his neck.

His breath was coming in gasps, but this time Victor did not stop. Excitement travelled up his spine, dissipating all the fear from before. He rocked against Victor in response, gasping out his name.

Victor’s kisses moved on to Yuuri’s chest. He hesitated and pulled away.

“Yuuri,” he whispered in tones that were warmer than any breeze on a hot summer day, “I…” he took a deep breath, “I would like…”

“What is it?” Yuuri asked.

“I dare not voice my request,” he admitted.

A soft laugh escaped Yuuri’s lips. “In that case I grant it.”

“Without knowing what it is?” Victor asked and planted a kiss on Yuuri’s stomach.

It was as though someone had filled Yuuri’s stomach with thousands of little butterflies. He closed his eyes at this new sensation and bit his lip.

Victor moved further down and Yuuri knew then what request he was too embarrassed to voice aloud. Yuuri shifted into a more comfortable position and spread his legs apart.

This time Victor did not hesitate.

Yuuri gripped the bedsheets and threw his head back. Every breath came with a lot of effort and he shuddered. He gasped and then worried that Victor would stop what he was doing. But Victor took Yuuri’s reaction as encouragement to continue.

“Victor…” Yuuri breathed out, his heart beating so fast he was certain it would burst out of his chest at any moment.

Perhaps this would have been different if there had been light to see by, perhaps then he would not have felt on the verge of death as Victor used his mouth to find something between Yuuri’s legs. But Yuuri was grateful for the dark: it hid the blush that burned on his face.

Victor was getting bolder with each minute. When he pulled away at last it was to make a delighted sound and whisper a confession.

Yuuri, who had not been prepared for this or for the way his entire body shook and shuddered in response, gasped for air.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor said, trailing his fingers through Yuuri’s damp hair.

There was no holding back now. There was something Yuuri had expected Victor to do and as he turned over he wondered if he would feel the same this time.

 

Victor could not see anything in the dark, it was true, but he could hear Yuuri’s heavy breathing and he could feel a fire pass through his own body.

His Yuuri – his husband – turned over and Victor knew what he needed to do next.

He trailed his hands over Yuuri’s gentle back and kissed very bit of skin he touched with his fingers, trying to smoothen out his touch, all too conscious of how rough his hands were.

Victor sat up and felt his hands tremble. Yuuri had given himself over so easily. Was he really aware of what troubles this could bring in its wake?

The Tsar had questioned Chris about this point carefully and then found an apothecary in the Kukuy Quarter who he had questioned still further. The man had handed him a bottle and sworn that it was the best thing available and then, all too conscious of who he was speaking to and perhaps scared that lying to the Tsar would cost him his head, he apologized repeatedly.

_“There might still be pain, Your Majesty. There are no oils that I know of that will protect you completely.”_

He knew then that this would not end pleasantly.

“Yuuri,” Victor said, “I …” he swallowed, unable to find the right words, and bent down, dropping his head so that his forehead rested on Yuuri’s back, “I was told that this would be painful,” he warned.

Yuuri gave a gentle sigh and whispered, “I understand.”

Victor searched around under the pillows were, per his instructions, a servant girl had slipped the bottle in that morning. Beside him Yuuri helped look for it.

He gave a quiet giggle, “I found it,” he said and thrust the bottle into Victor’s hand.

They were all too conscious of being solely in each other’s company. While Victor followed the instructions the apothecary had given him (mostly in a Latin he could barely understand) Yuuri repeated his vows.

The oil was cold and slippery on Victor’s fingers and he was all too aware of how liberally he was using it.

He climbed over Yuuri and hesitated once more. “Please tell me if I cause you pain,” he said. “Do not suffer for my sake.”

“I am willing to endure anything for your sake,” Yuuri told him.

Victor felt guilt wash over him. He would remember those words for a long time, he was certain of it.

 _No more hesitations,_ he told himself and took Yuuri.

 

They moved together, gasping each other’s names. Victor’s lips were at his right ear. Yuuri braced himself for a kiss, but Victor’s lips grabbed his earlobe instead.

“Victor…” Yuuri gasped. He went on moaning, not conscious of the words that were leaving his lips.

It was some time before Yuuri realized what he was saying. He was pleading for more in Japanese.

Victor’s mouth moved against Yuuri’s neck. “Yuuri…” he moaned in a needy voice. One of his hands was on Yuuri’s chest, his fingers sliding over skin. “Oh, Yuuri…”

Yuuri placed one hand over Victor’s and got a kiss pressed against his shoulder.

Would there really be pain after something like this? Yuuri wondered, threading his fingers through Victor’s.

Victor pulled away, making Yuuri protest softly. He dropped his head onto one of the pillows and muffled his words against it. Victor’s hands wrapped gently around him, pulled him away from the pillow and turned him around. He lowered his head onto Yuuri’s chest and placed another kiss against his skin.

The pillow was so soft under him and the bed – so warm and comfortable.

Yuuri’s eyelids were getting heavy now. He did his best to stay awake. It was his duty to stay awake until Victor decided that he wished to sleep.

But it was easier said than done. The excitement and worries of the day were fading away. His heart was no longer beating so fast and there was a dull ache in his limbs, reminding him how tired the day had left him, how early he had risen to get ready.

Somewhere up there was Victor ( _the Tsar_ , his sleepy mind supplied), but he was barely moving. Perhaps he was falling asleep as well.

Yuuri felt a thumb trail slowly down his chest as Victor murmured, “Good night, dear heart.”

“Good night,” Yuuri whispered, “my love.”


	2. First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is set in the middle of Chapter 19 of Victor the Great.

“Come with me,” Yuuri whispered, taking Victor by the hand and leading him down the hall.

Those words were enough to get Victor to follow him.

At the news that Yuuri’s life was in danger Victor had abandoned the embassy and ridden straight for Moscow, letting everyone else catch up with him if they liked. He had imagined all number of horrors on his way here – Yuuri hurt, Yuuri tortured, even Yuuri dying. He was not prepared for the good news when they caught up with him.

He was certainly not prepared for the sight of his husband alive and well. So well!

Yuuri’s eyes glowed and Victor knew that if Yuuri had not already held his kingdom in his hands, Victor would have given it to him a second time. There was a new expression in the eyes of the Tsarevich that Victor had never seen before: fascination. He saw something in Victor that fascinated him. The Tsar wondered what it was.

They walked outside, through the inner courtyard and then up a little staircase to their bedchamber. For a moment Yuuri paused at the door and turned to look at Victor, as if to make sure he wanted to come.

Victor’s heart beat faster. He thought back to every cold and lonely night spent abroad, thinking of Yuuri and he gave a little nod.

The door swung open and Victor watched Yuuri close it behind them. He dropped onto the bed without thinking, realizing that his legs would carry him no longer.

Yuuri walked up to him. “I missed you more than words can say,” he whispered, taking Victor’s face with both hands.

_So did I,_ Victor thought and surrendered to Yuuri’s kiss.

When Yuuri kissed him Victor’s thoughts would be about the feel of Yuuri’s lips. At their parting Victor’s thoughts had been of how dearly they would be missed.

This time Victor thought of Yuuri’s hands. They slipped down and then slid up of Victor’s coat. They felt around his neck. They rested briefly on Victor’s shoulders. It seemed to Victor that they were very interested in his clothes

Yuuri broke the kiss and dropped to his knees between Victor’s knees.

He felt his cheeks burn. Bright sunlight fell in through the windows, letting him see his dear Yuuri clearly. His dear, dear Yuuri with those curious hands of his.

The hands were not satisfied with the feel of Victor’s coat or face. They travelled down. With a pang Victor realized they were interested in all of him.

Finally they came to a stop at his boot.

Yuuri raised one leg and pulled the boot off. He lowered Victor’s leg slowly and then pressed the side of his face against it, gazing up at Victor.

Next came the other boot.

Victor was in a long pair of socks that went almost up to his knee where they met the bottom of his pants. Yuuri pulled them off next.

He tried to keep smiling. He had to keep smiling as his husband went on undressing him for fear that if he stopped then so would Yuuri.

Yuuri rose a little to help Victor out of his coat. He studied Victor’s shirt before removing it too.

It suddenly struck Victor that there was something strangely symbolic about a young Tsarevich in traditional Russian clothes undressing a man in European clothes and giving them all a curious look as he did so.

Victor was naked now and he was no longer thinking about the symbolism of anything.

The crown on Yuuri’s head gleamed as he leaned in close and used his mouth to catch Victor, his hands resting on the inside of each of Victor’s thighs. Yuuri’s lips slid over Victor’s skin.

Victor’s breathing was faster now. He was still, as if afraid to move.

A brief eternity passed and Yuuri rose to his feet. Where did that sparkle in his eyes come from? When had he learned to be so bold? If that had really been fascination in Yuuri’s eyes, then Victor was just as fascinated with him as his husband seemed to be.

Victor sat, feeling absolutely breathless. He watched Yuuri undo his kaftan, pull it off and drop it on the floor. Victor wished he could find the strength of will to undress Yuuri himself, but there was something untouchable about him in that moment. Maybe it was something in his eyes, or maybe it was the sight of the crown on his head. Whatever the reason, Victor watched the Tsarevich in silence.

Outside birds began to sing about the joy of being alive.

Yuuri went on until he had no clothes left. At some point he even pulled his crown off and now it lay, discarded on a pile of clothes on the floor.

The Tsar reached down and picked it up. It was an old thing, very simply and only meant to show that the wearer was closely tied to the ruler of the country.

After a brief pause the ruler of all the Russias held the crown up and placed it on the head of his husband, planting a kiss on his brow. “I want you to wear it,” Victor whispered.

There was a blush and a smile on Yuuri’s face. “Is this one of the tricks you alluded to in your letter?”

“What tricks?” Victor asked.

“Tricks you said you learned in Europe,” Yuuri explained.

Victor remembered the letter he had sent with the allusion to tricks the Europeans knew to please their partners and the innocent-sounding response he had received from Yuuri in return.

_The Europeans, no doubt, know more than us about running a home and I would very much like to hear what you have learned from them when you return._

So Yuuri _had_ understood his meaning!

Remembering that Yuuri had asked him a question, Victor said, “No, this is not one of those tricks, merely a wish of mine.”

He placed his hands over Yuuri’s stomach and ran his fingers down over the man’s skin.

Yuuri gave a gentle sigh.

Victor’s heart beat fast.

They had made love once in the dark and once by the light of candles. This time they had a chance to make love in broad daylight.

Victor went on caressing Yuuri’s stomach, working his way up to the man’s chest. Yuuri’s hands dropped onto Victor’s shoulders.

“You have everything of mine now,” Victor whispered. “I can offer nothing. My lands are yours, as are my heart, body and soul.”

Yuuri moaned as Victor rubbed his nose against the Tsarevich’s chest.

“And, so, you find a humble servant at your feet, Your Majesty.”

Victor felt Yuuri’s hold on him tighten and smiled into Yuuri’s chest. Putting on his meekest tone he added, “You may do with me as you wish.”

The joy of the reunion was making him foolish. But there was only Yuuri here to witness the Tsar get giddy with excitement, just as only Victor was witness to the shudder that passed through Yuuri’s body.

Realising he needed to see what Yuuri thought of his words, Victor pulled his head away and looked up into the face of the Tsarevich.

There was a smile on Yuuri’s lips and a blush on his cheeks, but an expression of deep sadness lodged in his eyes.

Happiness stepped aside to make way for guilt. He, Victor, had run from Moscow, glad at this opportunity to leave it all behind. No, if truth be told, he was _eager_ to leave it all: the dreary Kremlin halls, the old traditions he was so frustrated and disgusted with, the boyars with their laziness and their refusal to accept change, the people with their hate of foreigners.

But Yuuri had remained. No, Victor had _ordered_ Yuuri to remain and rule in his place. Poor Yuuri had had no choice in the matter. What was it like – staying here on his own, sleeping on this bed in this dark room with no one else for company?

“I am all yours,” Victor repeated in a tone of voice that was completely serious, “to do with as you will.”

Yuuri lay Victor down onto the pillows, following after him as they shifted to the top of the bed. He was on his knees and elbows, his face near Victor’s.

“I love you,” Yuuri whispered into Victor’s ear and brushed a lock of hair aside to plant a kiss there.

Victor took one of Yuuri’s hands and held it to his heart. How many nights had he spent thinking of this, their next time alone together? How many times had he written to Yuuri about this moment?

Yuuri was all gentle caresses and kisses pressed all over Victor’s skin, repeating the words he had written to Victor before.

Victor listened with his eyes closed. How many times had he traced those words out lovingly with his fingers before kissing the page? Remembering his promise to himself to kiss the hand that had written them, he opened his eyes, caught Yuuri’s hand and brought it to his lips.

There were ink stains on Yuuri’s fingertips. How many letters had Yuuri written in his absence? How many lonely hours had he written away?

The bed was strewn with pillows. How much more comfortable it was here than in that closet in Zaandam! Victor turned over onto his stomach and slipped his hands under them, searching around for the bottle.

Yuuri caressed Victor’s shoulders and back.

There it was. Victor pulled it out and turned over again to hand it to Yuuri.

Their eyes met and a long silence followed, filled with all the letters they had ever written to each other.

“Tongues,” Victor said, unable to remain silent any longer.

Yuuri’s brow furrowed. “What does mean?”

“Chris told me that Europeans…” Victor began, but stopped, unable to continue. Here he was – in bed with his husband, lying under him while both of them wore exactly what they had been born in, completely unable to explain what Europeans had done with their tongues. “Instead of talking they…” Victor attempted once more, but with no more luck than on his first attempt.

How could he explain what he had meant when those clear brown eyes were staring at him? How could he explain to the pure and innocent mind that –

Yuuri placed a finger on Victor’s lips. “Forgive me: I am slow-witted today. I believe I understand now.” There was a blush on his cheeks, but Victor was prepared to stake his life that his own face was redder.

Victor let Yuuri turn him over once more and waited.

 

Yuuri coated his fingers with the oil. It was thick and flowed out slowly, as if reluctant to leave the bottle. He slipped a finger inside the bottle, worried that Victor was getting impatient.

There were scars and bruises on Victor’s back. Victor had rough, workman’s hands that Yuuri knew would cause Victor to feel embarrassed when they were alone, but Yuuri admired him for them all the more. The scars, however, were a painful sight for the Tsarevich and nearly drew tears from his eyes, especially since this was the first time he had seen them.

How much pain had Victor endured to do what he felt was right for his country?

Forgetting about the oil on his fingers, he traced a scar gently with one finger and then pressed both hands against Victor’s shoulder blades. Yuuri caressed Victor, drawing circles with his thumbs.

Victor moaned.

Yuuri shifted down, allowed himself to sit for the first time. His legs were bent under him and spread apart so that his inner thighs touched Victor’s outer thighs. He worked his hands down and reached for the bottle once more.

He remembered the feel of the thick liquid on his own skin, how it made him shudder and sweat, and spread it slowly over Victor’s lower back.

Explanation were one thing, but a demonstration – quite another. He knew now what to do and rubbed the oil into the skin with his fingers, working slowly and taking his time. He aimed all his efforts at the line in between Victor’s buttocks.

 

Victor was convinced that there was not a single sensitive patch of skin that Yuuri’s hands had not caressed. He shuddered, feeling as malleable under Yuuri’s hands as the hot metal in a smith’s forge.

“Yuuri…” he moaned, dragging knees against the sheets and rubbing his thighs against Yuuri’s, “Yuuri…”

He clutched a pillow with both hands.

And then Yuuri remembered Victor’s allusion to tongues and Victor was convinced for the first time that he would pass out.

Was it possible to faint from pleasure? The question passed through his mind as Yuuri’s tongue passed over the trail his fingers had made between Victor’s buttocks.

He was burning now and thought again of the metal in a forge. Instead of a smith’s hammer he had Yuuri’s tongue and fingers on him, stretching him out.

Yuuri slid his hands away and Victor remembered to breathe. He knew what came next. Yuuri’s hands were on the bedsheets somewhere as his lower body moved closer to meet Victor’s. This was the moment when Yuuri usually switched to pleading in his native tongue.

“Yuuri!” he gasped. More words tumbled out of him, in a mix of languages, most of them Russian, but none of them coherent enough even for him to understand.

Later he remembered this moment and compared how he felt after each victory and defeat in the years that followed to that feeling of victory and defeat at the same time.

When Yuuri pulled away at last Victor was too breathless to protest. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Yuuri’s kisses on his back. Yuuri trailed his fingers up Victor’s arms and whispered, “Are you alright?”

Victor turned over and smiled. “Why would I not be?” He was about to add more, something about the warmth of Yuuri’s embrace, or the tenderness of his caress, but at that moment Yuuri sat up sharply.

“You must be hungry! I had a meal made for you and completely forgot!”

He watched Yuuri rise up and fetch a basin of water along with a towel to wash them both. He let Yuuri slide the wet towel over his body without comment.

As Yuuri finished and rose to get dressed, Victor said, “I brought clothes that I wish for you to wear.”

Yuuri turned to him with a curious look. “Oh?”

“And another change of clothes for myself. After the dirty road, I am afraid mine are rather the worse for wear.” He sat up and pulled Yuuri to him.

It was still midday. They still had their duties to remember, but later, when night fell, he promised himself to repay Yuuri in kind and spend the night in his embrace.

The first of many, many nights…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The tongue comment is completely made up, of course...)


End file.
